Dream
by Anonymous033
Summary: "They will never get to see our children." Tony and Ziva bond, in a way, over a shared regret. Tag to 10x11 "Shabbat Shalom." Vague spoilers to the spoilers of 10x12 "Shiva." One-shot.


**Disclaimer: I stole the pregnancy pack that was to be Ziva's. Boo-yah. (And then I got arrested.)**

**Spoilers: Major 10x11 "Shabbat Shalom."**

**This is ... kinda AU, based on the promo to 10x12 "Shiva." I got the idea from the spoilers to it, but I kind of doubt this scene would appear in the episode, since it's much tenderer than the promo is :P also, it's kind of pointless. So. Enjoy!**

**-_Soph_**

* * *

**Dream**

"I disappointed my father."

Her first words to him since the night before, when she'd cradled her dead father's body to her and cried, happen while he's in the middle of searching his shelves for a DVD that wouldn't be completely inappropriate as background noise in a time of mourning—it's just _too _quiet in his apartment, he's found, and even if he doubts that Ziva would be interested in the movie, he needs the distraction it'd offer.

The broken voice startles him, though, and he turns back with a "What?" left unuttered on his lips. She's seated on his couch, holding the crumpled picture of a pregnant her—the picture of her wearing a pregnancy pack under a ridiculously yellow shirt and a wide smile that boldly defies the lack of an actual living being inside her—and rubbing away with her finger at what he supposes must've been a teardrop.

"He said this was what retirement should look like," she elaborates without his prompting, "and … I have not given him that."

Her voice catches and her chest heaves, as if she's trying to hold back a sob, and he leaves his shelves to approach her slowly. Kneeling behind his couch brings him to a height that's only slightly lower than her head; she sniffles and offers him the photograph, as if he hasn't seen it and hoped for the scenario it advertises a hundred times before.

He takes the photo.

"Your father wanted a grandkid," he concludes softly, and she nods.

"Always has. He has—_had—_been telling me about this since I first joined Mossad. He always asked if I wanted to settle down and have my own family."

"And you told him 'no'?"

"I told him that it wasn't time yet. And that if I was going to be as absent as he had been, then I would rather not be a mother." Her breath catches audibly again. "He never said anything in response to my words, but I think I hurt him."

"You are entitled to share your opinion."

She does a weak half-shake of her head. "The last few times I told it to him, I did actually want to be a mother. But I said what I did to hurt him like he had hurt me. Now, he will never know that I did … I did love the times he took me to the beach or played baseball with me and Tali…" She brushes the back of her hand furiously across her eyes once. "That they are the things I remember when I am hoping for my own chance at a family."

He swallows uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. Most of him is searching for an answer that will make sense, that will somehow make everything right again; a tiny part of him, though, pulses with guilty contentment at the thought of her wishing for motherhood. She'd be an excellent mother,he knows beyond all doubt. Not too strict; not too lenient. And with an endless supply of love to give out.

She glances at him just then, her eyes pleading. "Do you think it is too late for my dreams?" she asks.

"You're not living for your dad, y'know," he answers softly. _It's not too late for _you _yet._

Her eyes flutter shut painfully. "I know," she whispers. "But there is a part of me which would have loved to see my daughter in _Abba_'s arms."

And he can relate, because on most days, he thinks he'd like to have been able to introduce his hypothetical wife and children to his mother, too.

So, he just touches her lightly in a gesture of sympathy. She opens her eyes and looks at him when his fingertips press into her skin, and he knows that she understands their shared regret.

"They will never get to see our children."

His heart skips a harsh beat at her defeated words, and he knows that it is hardly the time and that she means _his _and _her _completely separate, biologically unrelated offspring, but….

He swallows hard again and tells her, "The brats will still be fully and unconditionally loved, though," and she nods and sighs.

"I know."

"It has to be good enough, right?"

Surprise crosses her face at his question, like she hasn't really been expecting him to wonder if they—the team—will ever be able to fill the gaping holes in her life (if they will ever be able to fill the gaping holes in _his _life, for that matter) and make up for the lack of blood relations, but then her hard jaw relaxes into something that resembles the attempt to smile for the first time in twenty-odd hours.

"Yes," she assures him. "It is."

And something clicks into place inside him, even if he isn't quite sure _what _yet. He beams; her surprise changes into puzzlement, but she holds his gaze with a furrowed brow. He reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear.

"I've no doubt Eli was proud of you," he begins, and then has to resist the urge to stuff his foot into his mouth when her eyes glaze over and she jerks away from his touch like she's been burnt.

Her voice is heavy with unshed tears when she asks, "_How the hell would you know?_"

"'Cause…" he hesitates, not wanting to alienate her further. "You accomplished something he could only hope for his grandkids."

Her laugh is a humourless bark. "You have no idea what my father had hoped for his grandchildren. And even if you did … I don't think I am anywhere near as happy as _Abba_ had hoped my children would be. "

Her words sting more than they should, considering how true they probably are. He holds back the temptation to run away, though, to build an inch-thick shield around his heart so that her suffering can be separated from him; and he says instead, "No, but I _know _you're getting there. Little by little, Ziva. I know you're getting close to livin' out your dream like your dad would have wanted you to."

His conviction seems to make her calm down, for some reason. Her shoulders sink gradually, and she inhales deeply and holds up her pinkie finger. "Do you promise?" she asks, her voice small and so terribly scared and vulnerable as she asks him to _swear _to safeguard her happy ending no matter what.

He curls his own little finger around hers. "I promise," he says, and her hand stays warm against his long after they've sealed their pact.


End file.
